


Lupin's Third String

by barelyactive17



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: AU, Angst, Angst and Romance, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Identity Issues, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Romance, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, has some lemons but not super explicit, hiding certain relationships so you can actually be SUPRISED when they happen, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barelyactive17/pseuds/barelyactive17
Summary: Ren had written plays before—I mean—all he did WAS write. But never had he written something like this. It was supposed to be his magnum opus, his last highschool hurrah. So why was everything about this production destroying him from the inside out?
Relationships: Amamiya Ren & Sakamoto Ryuji, Amamiya Ren & Suzui Shiho, Amamiya Ren & Takamaki Ann, Amamiya Ren/Yoshizawa Sumire | Yoshizawa Kasumi, Sakamoto Ryuji/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 12
Kudos: 9





	1. The String

_All I could see...was a pool of black._

It covered him like stormy clouds, washed over his body in waves of drowning agony. He sat up from the murk and grime covering his body, choking back unspoken words amongst the coughs and gasps of life. In the hazy fog that shifted him, he didn’t think to check his pulse.

He was already dead.

His ears were ringing from the shrieking bells that reverberated through the darkened park. Familiar but distant, he could see the overgrown tree branches that twisted and gnarled over the crowd standing atop his corpse. It was a sick display, his body strung up in a layer of makeup to hide the deep wounds on his neck.

“I can’t believe you’re dead,” his cousin, Futaba, murmured from under the watchful shadow of her father. Sojiro stood firm, trying not to break as the slick rain painted his worn-out face. His umbrella was faltering much like his own body from the weight of burying his nephew.

_Dead._

_Soon to be buried._

_Forgotten._

“I’m not,” Ren tried to scream only to be met with deafening silence. A corpse could produce no sound. He knew that, yet he still fought against nature. He screamed and pleaded with the chains around his neck to release yet he couldn’t so much as blink. His gaze was trapped in a half-lidded stare that switched from his family’s face to his friends. Ann stood, crying into her palm while Ryuji supported her frail body. Right next to her was Shiho trying her hardest to hold back her tears.

Finally, the bell stopped ringing and a figure stepped forward from the crowd of distressed onlookers.

Ren tried to scream again when he saw the twisted reflection of himself.

Somber as his own corpse, the figure pulled a rose from his coat and tossed it onto his mirror image.

“No, No, No!” Ren repeated in a frantic mantra.

The soft wind ruffled the black curls of Ren’s mirror. Both of their eyes locked on a single spider’s thread swinging from the delicate branch underneath which lay Ren’s resting place.

“Goodbye,” the mirror spoke before slamming the casket closed.

_**THESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRING**  
_

In a panicked burst of energy, Ren woke up. His hair was matted, frayed beyond belief, falling past his maniac gasps of feverish air in front of his face. His room—barely illuminated by anything other than the Jack Frost nightlight Futaba had given him—had an eerie stillness to it. It was as if the nightmare he had, while just a dream, had also been a premonition. If he was more superstitious he would say something had visited him tonight. Looming over his bedsheets whispering disturbing stanzas of what was to come into his ear then escaping through some doorway he couldn’t even imagine.

His velvet blue covers shook as he forced his still uneasy body to lay down. He was in no mood to sleep anymore (it was close to time for him to wake up anyway) so he elected to stare at the wall inches away from his face. Morgana stirred at his feet as the somewhat skittish cat stretched then made his way through the gap in Ren’s doorway and downstairs to find another spot that wouldn’t be disturbed by the teenage boy’s wild panic.

His ghostly gray eyes traced the seams and cracks in the wall as they slowly crept up to his window and at the full moon which stared back at him in subtle tranquility. He groaned as he rolled onto his back, eyes meeting a spider slowly weaving its way past the support beams of the attic. A thread hung softly, shifting back and forth on the precipice of breaking before shifting back again.

“I hate spiders,” Ren muttered before reaching over to grab his phone and check what texts he had missed.

> _Saka-go-go: yo don’t forget your drama club thing starts today._

> _Saka-go-go: bring money, Ann wants to go shopping in Kichijoji after school_

> _saythankyoumaki: we’re going shopping today!!!!!_

> _soundbody415: remember to come to today’s meeting. we’re voting on the stories_

The rest of his messages were either spam or school texts reminding him of his Drama engagements.

“‘Kosei High’s Fine Arts Department will be throwing its first all student-run production’” Ren mocked to himself, “lucky me, As if anyone will pick my ideas,” he sighed. He eyed the time on his phone and rose from his bed when he saw it said 7:08.

With any luck, he’d at least get to do the lighting. If he couldn’t have one of his scripts chosen he would get to make the stage pop another way.

The day started to break. Specks of the bright orange morning mixed in with the regal purple hues from last night started to burst through the clouds and into the Amamiya Household. Through his family’s black and red curtains a golden halo shone onto the dining table where Ren’s dad, Eito was sitting.

“Up early huh?” His dad said with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m always up this early,” Ren grumbled.

“I suppose so.”

Pregnant silence.

He was used to awkward pauses in conversations with his parents. They didn’t seem to enjoy talking very much and were equally as apathetic to Ren's presence in general. Maybe that's why everything about him felt so stilted and held in place. He never knew what motion was in this puppeteer’s shack he called home.

“Well, me and your mother are working today, don’t be late for school. She left some money on the table heading out the door.”

Eito didn’t give much time for a response and immediately made his way out. His boring salaryman job didn’t leave much of any time for him to talk to his son. Did he even know that Ren had new obligations starting this month? Whatever, his parent's negligence (that he was so used to) wasn’t going to stop him from enjoying the new production. Well maybe if his own fucked up head didn’t first.

Before leaving Ren made sure to overfill Morgana’s bowl and leave him some water. The lazy ass cat probably wouldn’t get up to eat anytime soon but Ren seemed to be the only one who cared about the “family pet” in the first place. At least the feline repaid him by keeping him calm during his too frequent nightmares.

Ren’s favorite hobby amongst the dull gray of his morning commute was to watch people. It usually gave him inspiration when he wrote so he studied every seemingly insignificant body that moved through the Shibuya terminal as if they were the main characters of their own TV show. It was his “Third Eye”, the part of him that could observe the chalky outlines of busy working men, gossiping teenage girls heading to school, and bratty little kids that he could derive their whole life’s story from in their short movements.

He was not a people person—don’t misunderstand—but he was a people reader. He could tell everything he needed to, he just didn’t know how to respond when it came time to talk back.

“You look so creepy staring at people dude,” Ryuji said, approaching Ren from behind.

“Sorry, can’t help it,” Ren said back with a friendly grin. Truthfully he hated when Ryuji said that. Ryuji was good to him, better even with how annoying Ren could be, but every time his friends did that, made subtle comments about how "anti-social" he was, he started to overthink. He could only imagine a scared woman calling the cops on him for staring at her too hard. So trying his hardest to look natural Ren forced his gaze to the floor causing Ryuji to raise an eyebrow.

“Sorry, did I do it again?”

“N-no, it's okay, trust me.”

“Alright man, whatever you say.”

Ren opened his mouth to say something else but the Shibuya terminal roared to life and announced the train heading to Ayome-Itchome. The two boys quickly boarded and were whisked off to their destination.

“So how you feeling bout this big production coming up?”

“Terrible” Ren shook his head, “I already know they won’t be picking any of my scripts. They’re too depressing."

“Change your endings then,” Ryuji laughed.

Ren frowned playfully, “that’s compromising my artistic integrity.”

“I guess but I mean the best stories have a happy ending you know? Every time I read your plays I know someones gonna die.”

“Not everything needs a twist. Sometimes the greatest twist in literature is to play things straight. The consequences of one character should come back and affect the story somehow.”

“You know I never get all your literature mumbo jumbo, I just read em for the fight scenes.”

“Think of it like this, if Taro had punched you in the cafe that one day would you fight him or let him by?”

“Now that questions’ obvious dude.”

“Exactly, all my stories are like one big punch after another.”

“Hey wait a minute,” Ryuji said, waving his hands, “don’t explain stuff to me like I’m some meathead who can only understand things by fighting. I don’t even do that anymore. I’m just saying the concept went over my head.”

“Trust me Ryuji I know,” Ren laughed, “your mom chewed both us out.”

“So like her,” Ryuji sighed, “you ain’t even do nuffin. I guess she thinks I’m some bad influence on you.”

Ren didn’t really know what to say to that so elected for a small awkward pat on his shoulder.

“You suck at comforting,” Ryuji snorted.

“Oh, so you prefer if I got Ann to do this then?” Ren said, causing Ryuji to turn beet red and hide his face.

“S-shut up!”

“I’m so right,” Ren said, unlocking his phone. The two boys spent the rest of the train ride in a comfortable silence—better than the one at Ren’s house for sure—as they enjoyed the ride to Aoyama. Still, Ren couldn’t help but rack his brain. As much as he didn’t want to admit it he hated the fact that neither of the two scripts he submitted was going to get picked this year.

Ryuji was right, his stuff was depressing. His characters did die, the guy never got the girl, the war was always lost, the villains tended to win. But that’s just how the world actually was right? No one ever wanted to admit it but victory was scarce in real life. What else did they want Ren to write, fabrications that eased the mind about the cruelty of life? The way he saw it, his stories were a...reality check.

They were a breath of fresh air to the smog shrouding his thoughts. Maybe Kosei or Ryuji didn’t enjoy reading his work but, he did, and really that’s all that mattered. Besides, his literary skills would never become his job or anything. He’d probably end up a salaryman like his father, wasting his life away unfulfilled. That’s just how you lived and died right? Especially as an average student who didn’t really know what he wanted out of life.

“Dude stops here,” Ryuji said, elbowing Ren’s skinny arm. He nodded and followed the blond-haired boy’s lead, careful to not bump into the other passengers.

Shujin and Kosei Academy were two radically different schools, one focused on the fine arts while the other prided itself on sports. Ren couldn’t fathom why then did the powers to be decided to merge the two schools together into one big campus. Ann said it was like college training and how big their universities were, Ryuji and Ren saw it as a giant clusterfuck of kids who already didn’t like each other now being forced to interact on the day-to-day. The schools shared two different café that either student bodies could attend and even some classes but the divide came in with “specialized programs”.

For Ren, this meant separating himself from his two best friends for half the day to get harder math and science classes than them while Ann and Ryuji had to deal with practice academic papers and classes on psychology. Again, it didn’t really make sense to Ren but he wasn’t in the habit of changing the status quo. He kept his head down, tried to avoid the vulgar Shujin students that he couldn’t fight himself and would inevitably end up needing Ryuji to come and kick the crap out of.

He was halfway through his trite day—brain half-melted from geometry questions when—his phone buzzed to life.

> _soundbody415: can you come to the Drama room during your lunch break? it’s important._

> _looseendthethird: sure_

Important? Nothing involving Ren was ever important. He strode into the boxy room, dust-caked onto unused props that had been sitting in here since last summer and met with the familiar dark-haired girl. As always her hair was tied up, showing off her black piercings that followed the cartilage of her ear up to her industrial piercing which was shaped like an arrow.

Her Shujin High uniform was dirty, probably from moving the boxes by herself, with the sleeves rolled up showing off her bare toned arms. She paused for a second and looked up, jumping a bit in fear then relaxing when she saw it was just Ren, his glasses reflecting the overcast sun.

“I swear you move like a ghost,” Shiho giggled, trying to calm herself.

“Sorry…” Ren whispered.

“What's wrong?” Shiho asked.

“Nothing, what do you need help with?”

“Did you eat first?”

“Yes mom,” Ren said rolling his eyes, “you're worse than Ann.”

“I’m just worried about you. As an athlete, we treat our bodies like the well-oiled machine they were meant to be and I’m going to share that with you and Ryuji until you guys start treating them like the temples they are.”

“You called me here to tell me I’m fat?”

Shiho couldn’t help but laugh then shake her head, “no dumb-dumb. I called you to help move the old props so we can make room for the new stuff coming in for this year's production.”

“Oh…” Ren said somberly. He quickly removed his white Kosei jacket and got started to help but was stopped by Shiho’s outstretched hand.

“What's wrong Amamiya?”

“Nothing,” Ren lied.

“You’re production is gonna get picked, trust me.”

“I already know everyone hates my writing, well the few who have read it,” Ren said softly, “I can't get excited from the school picking some schlocky romance play that's gonna make everyone feel complacent.”

“Your writing is good,” Shiho said as Ren slipped by her, lifting one of the boxes. “That goes in there,” she said pointing to the storage closet right behind him.

“Thanks.”

“...like I said, your writing is good. A little pretentious but good. You have a chance to get picked.”

“I really appreciate the kind words Shiho but we know that’s not true,” Ren said, sitting down one of the boxes, “where’s the other one?”

Shiho crossed her arms then subtly shuffled to the right allowing him access to the next box. This one was filled to the brim with fake swords, a broken mirror, and other junk that hadn’t been used in a while.

“Could you please just come to the Drama meeting today? Even if you don’t get picked you are going to be on the writing committee right?”

“Not this year,” Ren shook his head, “I’ll stick to lights with Mishima.”

“Ren!” Shiho yelled, causing him to flinch.

“Sure your writing is one thing, whether you think it's good or not, but you’re the best damn editor we have. You can see the flaws in some stuff that we can’t. All our plays have been fantastic cause of you!”

“Yeah well this year I just don’t have it in me Shiho,” Ren said somberly.

_I don’t have much of anything in me this year._

“Ugh, you and Ryuji are so stubborn,” Shiho said, shaking her head. “Look if you change your mind I’ll sweet talk Student Prez into keeping a seat at the committee open for you.”

“I—“

“—don’t debate me, you’re not winning this one,” Shiho said with her hands on her hips.

“Alright.” Ren sighed.

“This place is pretty clean now, hurry and eat so you can finish the rest of the day,” Shiho ordered.

Ren knew better than to fight back and instead took the chance to leave.

_You can see the flaws in some stuff that we can’t._

_**THESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRING**_

Another reason Shujin and Kosei shouldn’t have merged schools, dismissal was a nightmare. The swarm of students eager to throw away the responsibilities of the day and leave formed a tidal wave of kids running into each other.

Ren wasn’t in the mood to wade through that so he elected to sit in the school library and wait for a text from Shiho. He spent god knows how long watching the time on his phone before getting up. Was the meeting rescheduled for today?

The students had cleared out by now leaving the hallways bare, well bare for Shujin-Kosei standards. He maneuvered through the nameless faces, not at all in the mood to people watch but stopped when he heard his name called from amongst the crowd of teens.

“Amamiya!” Ms. Chouno's sultry voice shouted over the student commotion.

“Y-yeah?”

“Nijima and Suzui sent me to look for you. The Drama Committee has something important they want to talk with you about.”

“Just me?”

“Well, the other writers aren’t necessary apparently. I can only wonder why, something to do with Okumura?”

Okumura?

Wordlessly Ren slipped off as Ms. Chouno mumbled something to herself about “ _who does Nijima think she is?_ ” and “ _why is the student bossing a teacher around?_ ”

The short walk up the steps and around the corner to the drama room felt like a lifetime. His brain was racked with questions, what would Haru Okumura want with him? They weren’t even in the same tax bracket yet here she was requesting to speak with him. Mix that in with the Drama Department, Shiho, and Makoto and that was almost too many personality types for him to deal with.

His mind was so abuzz with thoughts he didn’t even register there was no one in the actual Drama Room. He felt the familiar drone of one of his anxiety-induced headaches resurge as he walked back out. His heart was racing a mile a minute and he used the wall as a guide to keep himself focused as he walked to the Student Council Room.

He felt his thoughts go numb as he opened the door and walked inside, drawing eyes from faces he did and didn’t recognize.

There was a slender boy, dressed in the white Kosei uniform with long blue hair washed over his left eye in a bang. He was taller than Ren but just as lanky, holding himself with an air of refined elegance. He was confident but not cocky, Ren could read that much amongst blurred thoughts.

Across from him was Mishima and Jose. Two friends who were damn near inseparable. They were the light and sound department respectively. The familiar faces did something to alleviate his anxiety.

Standing in front of everyone, seated at the round table was Makoto Nijima. Her piercing crimson eyes stared Ren right down to his core. She looked Ren up and down, subtly to be fair but Ren could still tell she was watching him the same way he watched other people. Somehow she was looking for some sign of weakness, some breach in Ren’s defense.

Ren fought back a groan of pain as his headache intensified.

“Oh, you must be Amamiya?” Makoto said.

“Sup’ Ren,” Jose said, munching on a bag of chips he pulled from god-knows-where.

“H-hey,” Ren said.

“Knew you’d show up,” Shiho said coming from the back, “we were just discussing you.”

“M-me?”

“Am I interrupting?” a prissy voice said as it entered the Student Council Room.

Haru Okumura was the type of beauty Ren was intimated by. Soft skin framed by peach-colored curls falling to her shoulder. Her almond-shaped eyes took in everyone in the room and instantly Ren knew what type of person she was.

_Cold._

_Ineffectual._

_And calculated._

“Are you the writer?”

“Yes, he is,” Shiho said for Ren—probably noticing his oncoming panic attack—and gave a shit-eating grin, “the best damn writer in the room.”

“Really? I love the two plays you wrote for this year’s production. Especially compared to the others.”

“It was over fifty of them,” Ren said in disbelief.

“Yes but yours stood out,” Haru said, “the way you write is very deep. Frankly, I couldn’t stop turning the page. I saw everything in my head vividly.”

“So Haru came to me and asked if you could write a piece for her and the school. Financed by the Okumuras themselves of course,” Shiho said.

Ren was speechless. Someone actually enjoyed his stories? Bad endings and everything?

“Look at him, his mouth is hanging open,” Jose snickered.

“Isn’t this great Amamiya?” Mishima cheered.

Quickly before anyone else could comment on Ren’s current state Shiho put reassuring hands on his shoulders.

“I took it upon myself to run most of the production as the director.”

“And I’ll be writing it?” Ren said dumbfounded.

“Yup, me the Director, you’re the writer and Makoto will be the producer.”

“I’m the dramaturg!” Jose cheered.

“I’m hoping you all have a great production,” Haru said, “I’ll stay in touch Niijima.”

“Of course,” Makoto said with a satisfied smile, “if it's not a problem can you have the first draft of your new play by the 22nd Amamiya?”

“Y-yeah, sure.”

“Thank you, I have other things to tend to so could you please give him my number Suzui?”

“No problem prez, I’ll make a group chat for all of us if it's okay?”

“No problem with me,” Makoto said before walking out.

“This was supposed to be a meeting discussing the rest of the production but I wasn’t counting on Haru showing up like this,” Shiho said to the others. She spied the skinny blue-haired boy watching everything with baited intrigue. “oh I forgot, this is Yusuke Kitagawa, he’s an actor and he was very intrigued by your play, _Inari’s Shrine_ ,” Shiho said

“Quite!” Yusuke said flamboyantly, “every part of your play was ornately written. The way you used your words and crafted your characters was akin to a painter’s delicate brush strokes.”

“We have an uh, colorful batch of people coming in this year,” Shiho deadpanned.

“W-well, I’m glad you’re on board Yusuke. I’ll still have to run auditions for you though,” Ren responded.

“It’s alright,” Yusuke said in his pompous accent, “I wouldn’t have it any other way. As long as I get a chance to be in your production in some form if that's alright with you.”

“Speaking of, we still need to find a costume designer and prop manager.”

“Is Ann available?” Ren asked, taking a seat. His mind was still foggy but he had the peace of mind to function, even for a little while.

“I guess, she hasn’t had any fashion shoots or trips to go to lately. If she’s up to the task then sure,” Shiho shrugged.

“Will this ‘Ann’ be devoted?” Yusuke asked, “I don’t want to make any implications regarding her work ethic but Shiho and Makoto have made it clear this being our last production as highschool students a certain level of quality is expected.”

“Of course she will Kitagawa,” Shiho said, “all our productions are run like a real theatre company. Professionalism included.”

“Splendid,” Yusuke said with a small smile.

“I’m glad everything is in place,” Haru responded, “once Amamiya is finished with the play please let me know and I’ll begin ordering everything you need.”

Haru gave another nod and left the Student Council Room. Out of earshot of Ren, Shiho stopped Haru and thanked her for the opportunity on Ren’s behalf. She giggled a little then promised she would keep in touch before leaving.

“Okay! Good meeting guys, everyone is dismissed!"

_I get to write a play?_

_**THESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRING**_

Kichijoji was unusually moody today.

Ren was too.

It was a habit of his to be silent, to watch the world through a spectral imprint of his figure as the day burned and people went about their routine. He hung in the back of his friend group like a phantom, blending in with the subtle neon of the trendy city marked by a cool hue of bamboo green foliage. Of course, all his friends were used to this by now but it didn’t make them any less worried when Ren was quiet, watching as if he was some all-knowing deity. Forming opinions and thoughts in his head no one should be privy to.

Again, Ann and Ryuji were used to this so they didn’t question until they had finally taken a break from their shopping and sat down to eat. Ren’s dumpling went untouched as he poked and prodded at the steamed bun with his chopsticks, instead electing to stare into space at Kichijoji’s colorful billboards. It wasn’t until Shiho returned from her bathroom break that Ryuji took the chance to speak up.

“Suzui, Ren ain’t movin’ again,” Ryuji said as the wind ruffled through his hair that badly needed a re-dye.

“Think he fell asleep?” Ann said half-seriously while slurping her noodles.

“I’m awake,” Ren grumbled.

“Ah, so he ain’t a movin’ statue,” Ryuji grinned, “but for real dude, what's wrong with you?”

“He found out someone else liked his writing for once,” Shiho said.

Ren's body didn’t move but his now closed eyelids fluttered. He held himself back from saying something.

“I’m lost,” Ryuji said with his head turned to the side like an inquisitive puppy, “ain’t that good?”

“It is but you know Ren’s never happy,” Shiho laughed.

Ren stopped himself from flinching. Even though it was made in jest she had been very right. Ren was having a hard time finding the....need he guessed? He felt like his life was slowly rotting to the core and with this being his last year, what did he have to laugh at? Still, he played it off with a cool smirk and an excuse to head to whatever bathroom was nearby. Earning a worried look from Ann.

“Good job Shiho!” Ann said slapping Ryuji’s arm way too hard for his liking, “you made him upset.”

“Why’d you hit me tho…”

“You were closest,” Ann said quickly.

“Sorry,” Shiho said sadly, “I didn’t know, I’ll go talk to him.”

The dark-haired athlete quickly shot up from the table and followed behind the bespectacled writer. She waited a few moments behind a cramped corner before coming out when she saw him move through the busy crowd out of the bathroom. She sure hoped he hadn’t done what she thought he did.

“I’m sorry,” Shiho said, approaching Ren. If he was startled he didn’t show it.

“S’okay, I know I’ve been a party pooper lately.”

“That's no excuse for me to talk to you like that.”

“It was a joke,” Ren shrugged

“One in bad timing,” she responded. Normally Ren was reserved, he didn’t really like the feeling of being touched but made exceptions for his friends depending on his mood. Shiho hoped today was one of those exceptions and closed the gap between them by firmly wrapping her delicate fingers around Ren’s arm. Her soft manicured hands rustled the fabric on Ren’s long sleeve Kosei high uniform causing him to heat up. He didn’t move though, he was accepting the touch.

For now.

“Suzui…” Ren whispered.

“I know we’re not together anymore,” Shiho said cutting him off, “I still think it's better this way but you know I care about you Ren.”

“I know…”

“You haven’t… you know,” Shiho got real close and whispered what she wanted to say next, “did that thing have you?”

“No, I would never do that to you again,” Ren said, shaking his head. Warm panic was starting to set in, Shiho could see it.

“I believe you, Ren…”

“Thank you…”

Some silence.

Shiho wanted to see what else he would say. She was worried about more than just the play, Ren’s mental state was all over the place. Was there more to his melancholy attitude than just the events of today?

“I’m just not used to people actually liking something I did,” Ren said, shaking his head, “now I have two weeks to write the rough draft of this play, find a prop manager, help you direct it, work with actors, and then my parents have been fighting a lot lately…”

That was it.

“I told you that you can stay at my house when it was too much.”

“I don’t wanna keep putting whatever ‘this’ is on you.”

“You’re not, you’re relying on a friend during a hard time.”

“You have a lot you're dealing with too. Volleyball season is coming and you’re doing this production.”

“Listen, I did it before and I’ll do it now,” Shiho said shaking her head, “even if I look ‘too busy’ you know you can rely on me. If not me then Ryuji or Ann too.”

“I know, I know, it's just different this year.”

“What about Futaba?”

Ren chuckled and ran a hand through his slick black hair, “my uncle’s house has been a mess lately. You know with Futaba’s mom passing…”

“Oh, I’m sorry…” Shiho repeated for the third time.

“Again it's not your fault, I just don’t wanna add to that load with my problems too.”

“I understand...” Shiho nodded, “...I just want you to be okay Ren."

“I am okay.”

Ren held out a pinky.

“I promise.”

Shiho eyed the gesture for a few moments before interlocking it with her own.

“I believe you.”

Shiho laughed to herself earning a look from Ren.

“We should get back before they think we’re up to something.”

Ren nodded and followed behind Shiho. He smiled inwardly, seeing the pep in her step return and the cheery aura he was used to coming back in a ray of light.

“Shihoooo, Ryuji hit me when you left.”

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“ _Ryuji_ ,” Shiho muttered darkly.

“You’re going to believe _her_ over _me?_ ”

Maybe today wasn’t really that bad after all.

_**THESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRINGTHESTRING**_

May showers never really washed away the dull ache that Ren felt inside. He remembered feeling the constant thud behind his heart in his first year of high school. It started when his parents had their first big fight. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of seeing his dad throwing vases that HE would just as quickly yell at Ren not to touch but it changed something inside of him. Like a switch that was supposed to turn on the lights in a house suddenly dimming the whole neighborhood. His house had slowly turned into a warzone and his parents the bloody soldiers. The sick part about it was the next day they acted like nothing happened, even took him to dinner out in Ogikubo.

Their fights were more subtle since then but no less painful. Rather than grandiose yelling, screaming, and blubbering snot-filled cries, they elected to argue in hushed whispers when they thought Ren was asleep. The walls in their old apartment were very thin. He had vivid memories of his ear pressed to them listening to the horrible things his parents had done to each other out of spite of a relationship they had both felt forced into. They talked about Ren like he was a weight in their lives, keeping them chained to the desecrated burden that their marriage had become over the fifteen years of being together.

“ _I know he’s not mine!_ ”

“ _How could you say that? I never cheated on you. I should be looking at you the way you look at me. You’re the cheater._ ”

“ _I only slept with her because you never have sex with me when I do ask._ ”

“ _You’re so selfish._ ”

Yeah, a dull ache was the right way to describe it. When Ren and Shiho used to date she always described a good workout as lingering. You should feel your body repairing itself after pushing it to its absolute limit the day before. Truly Ren felt like he was pushing himself to the limit every day he woke up. There was this insurmountable weight standing on his rib cage and every time he woke up he felt like Shiho had added an extra pound.

Every new day felt like Ren sliding on the skin of the person he used to be as a disguise. He was just a puppet made of a human, piloting the body of something he had already killed some years ago.

Like he always did at night instead of finding himself sleeping he was staring at the ceiling again, watching the same tan spider weaving a web above his head.

“Spider...web...” he thought out loud.

In a frenzy, Ren’s eyes shot open. He tossed the covers off his body and quickly took a seat at his computer before he lost the idea that flashed in his mind.

_If I lose this I’m going to hate myself._

Ren’s deliberate typing continued well into the rest of the night and even blurred into the early morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is going to get pretty heavy at some points. I don't believe in shock value art so for any sensitive topics I'll leave an Author's Note at the top of the chapter to let you know when something potentially triggering might happen. There's also some Lemons here and there but I don't like super graphic sex just for the sake of it either so they'll be warnings for that as well.


	2. The 1st Page

If a painter were to fling a splotch of black onto a blank canvas, that splotch would have become the district of Yongen-Jaya.

The slow drip of paint was like the people of the district. Shadows that slinked and slipped through back alleys and stores at their own pace under the watchful eye of their resident artist, the afternoon sun. Today though, it was drizzling, creating puddles that splashed water all over Ren’s black jeans and matching converses.

As Ren turned the familiar street corner leading to his uncle’s coffee shop, he got hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. He was flooded with memories of playing soccer on this particular strip. The mental image of him waving to the old lady who ran the second-hand shop with her husband caused him to smile then just as quickly frown. He hadn’t seen her in such a long time he hoped that she was…

Sneaking a quick look into the opened front of the store he was greeted by a toothless grin.

“Amamiya, so nice to see you again. Where have you been?”

“Just...studying...” Ren said back.

_I don’t want her to think I’ve been wasting my life away since the last time we talked. Then again that was almost eight years ago..._

“That's good. You always were a studious boy. Still writing your movies too?”

Ren still didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was a _playwright_ , not a _screenwriter_.

“I don’t plan to stop,” he nodded. That answer seemed to satisfy the older lady and like she always did back when he was a kid, handed him a towel wrapped slice of watermelon bread.

He thanked her then continued his short trek through the back alley. Everything was attached to some random memory or another. The supermarket that always had fresh fruits, the rather attractive Tae Takemi’s clinic, the batting cages that Ren didn’t have very good luck with so he never went unless Ryuji felt like embarrassing himself in front of Ann for the thousandth time, and the public bathhouses which were just a... _no_. Customary or not he just couldn't get comfortable around a bunch of strangers who didn't have their clothes on.

The chilly fall winds nipped at Ren’s exposed flesh but he continued ahead, comforted by the warmth he knew would be in his uncle’s business. His script—which he still needed a name for—was clutched close to his body. Probably foolish of him to walk around with his new script in the rain but he had already pulled it out when he stepped off the terminal. He was more worried about his play getting stolen and plagiarized then rained on since he could print more physical copies on his laptop back home. Stopping someone from stealing his words once it was in their hands though? A different story entirely. Yongen-Jaya didn’t really have crime and he doubted criminals would jump out of the bushes and rob him for a high school play of all things but here was the thing about Ren’s brain. It didn’t matter if the conclusion he came to was illogical. He would trick himself into thinking it was real. And the thought would pound.

And pound.

And pound.

And _pound_ into his head until he had to do something about it.

Trying his absolute hardest to push his anxiety-ridden thoughts into the deepest crevice of his brain, he approached his uncle’s coffee shop.

_Café Leblanc_

Wordlessly he slid inside, letting the cafe’s pleasant sounding chime alert the owner of his presence. Sojiro was sitting at the bar, a newspaper gripped firmly in his aged hands and a cup of coffee wafting its warm smell through the air. He shot a glance to where Ren was standing, giving the boy a small glimpse of his oily black hair covered by the pink cap on his head. Leblanc was very much like its owner. Laid-back, and cozy with a soft palette of dark browns, blacks and hushed reds accompanying the mellow jazz music Sojiro let run in the background

“If it isn’t my favorite Hollywood writer,” Sojiro said, sparing a sly smirk. Ren always found it funny how Sojiro said that yet Ren hadn’t let him read a single one of his scripts. Honestly, Ren wasn’t sure if Drama was even Sojiro’s cup of tea or coffee in this case. He looked down at the play in his hands, the edges of its pages already bent.

_Maybe..._

“Hey uncle,” Ren said, taking a seat next to him.

“Surprised you aren’t at my house actually. You never really did like coffee,” Sojiro said, taking a small sip.

“I actually uh wanted to show you something…” Ren said laying his script onto the sturdy wooden bar.

“Really?” Sojiro replied wide-eyed, “you’ve never let me take a peek before.”

“This one is...different…”

Sojiro chuckled, “Is that so?”

Delicately he picked up Ren’s work. It was only three pages so far but Ren always took his time with the beginning of the story. He tried to play off the nervous jitters that had settled into his body when Sojiro examined the first page. How could the act of showing someone else your work become so stressful?

“Did I ever tell you I used to write novels?” Sojiro said as his eyes glided across Ren’s prose.

“R-really?”

“Mhmm, it’s actually how I met Wakaba,” Sojiro said softly, “at university. In a literary class.”

“I didn’t know that…”

“Cause you never had a reason to ask and until now I didn’t have a reason to tell you,” Sojiro said as he turned the page in Ren’s play.

“Does that mean you stopped?”

“After me and Wakaba got married I didn’t have much time to. We had to take care of Futaba after all. I think your mom told you about how she got pregnant in college.”

Ren flinched, “y-yeah…”

“It’s okay kid, I know my sister has a tendency to gossip,” Sojiro chuckled, “especially when it came to her ‘baby brother’” he scowled.

Ren watched with bated breath as Sojiro took in the final page of his new work. He flipped it closed softly then turned to meet Ren’s tense glare.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all this.”

“More than a little,” Ren said with an awkward laugh.

“Well Wakaba introduced me to her ‘first-page philosophy’” Sojiro said sagely. A hand stroking his goatee, he continued, “your first page should be your last page.”

“Huh?”

“I was expecting that reaction,” Sojiro chuckled, “what do you think that means?”

“I should write my first page after the rest of my story?”

“Creative but no. Your story should already tell itself on the first page. Every theme, character arc, and even the ending should all be discernible from the first page. That’s if your audience is paying attention.”

“I never thought of that…” Ren said as he read over his own words.

“You might not have even realized it, but you’re on the right track. Just keep letting your characters speak to you and I think this will be the best thing you’ve ever written,” Sojiro said, standing up.

“But you’ve never read my other ones?”

“Don’t need to, I can tell you’re a talented kid,” Sojiro said walking to the door. He grabbed his mauve umbrella and flipped the _Leblanc_ sign from _Open_ to _Closed_. “Don’t mess up the house now you hear? I have to go food shopping in the city. Amongst other things...”

“Okay,” Ren nodded.

Without another word, his uncle stepped out into the rainy day afternoon then turned the corner heading towards the train station.

Ren gave one last glance at his play before picking it up and mirroring Sojiro.

_First page huh?_

**_THE1STPAGETHE1STPAGETHE1STPAGE_ **

“Reeeeeeeeeen what happened to you yesterday? We were supposed to run through KOF 96’ together,” Futaba whined.

“Sorry Futaba, but look at what I wrote,” Ren said eagerly placing his script on Futaba’s gaming desk.

It was a typical Sunday affair between the two family members. Ren spent most of his weekends with Futaba, whether that be the two of them just shooting the breeze or Futaba showing off some super-advanced computer stuff that Ren was happy to learn more about.

Futaba’s room resembled the “otaku” stereotype. Filled with posters from anime and cute funko pop figures sitting on top of rickety selves that also had figuarts of each character to match. On a neighboring shelf, there were a bunch of graphic novels. The top was filled with manga and the bottom with American comics, particularly Batman. Ren had no idea where his cousin got all this money to afford the—what he was sure to be—expensive pieces of media. And don’t get him started on a completely separate shelf tucked away in the corner filled with video games, retro and modern. Futaba always told Ren she had a job and that’s how she paid for her stuff but he was pretty sure her " _job_ " involved some less than legal hacking activities.

Futaba herself had made some changes since the last time Ren had seen her. She had dyed her hair again, trying out a fiery red. Her bangs were still cut short but the hair to the right of her bang was braided together with pink yarn that popped against her semi-freckled face and big glasses.

“A new one?” she asked. Like Shiho, Futaba liked Ren’s scripts. Not because she knew anything about Drama or Theatre itself but simply because she loved her cousin and would support him in anything he did. He was sure that he could murder someone in cold blood and Futaba would still love him regardless of how scary of a thought that was. She was there for him and he always made sure to return the favor for her.

He trusted her.

“I wrote it last night, uncle Sojiro liked it.”

“You showed it to him?” Futaba said, more than a little surprised.

“Yeah, he actually went into this story about how he met your mom and how he used to write poetry and novels. It was weird but it helped me.”

“Mom huh…” Futaba said somberly. Ren internally cringed. How could he just forget about that so fast? He took a seat on Futaba’s bed so that they would be on an equal level.

“Futaba I’m sorry—”

“—no it’s okay,” she replied, “I think the two dorks deserve each other if they met over _poetry_ of all things,” Futaba laughed.

Relieved, Ren chuckled with her, “I was just as flabbergasted as you.”

“I’m _so_ gonna tease him about that later,” Futaba said, flipping through Ren’s script, “I don’t get a single thing you’ve written but it's really good!”

“I’m so glad I can rely on your critique,” Ren said sarcastically before falling onto his back.

“Sorry, maybe I can be like your little _giiiiirlfriend_ and analyze it deeper for you?”

Ren’s face turned red hot and he tossed a pillow at his cousin’s head. She ducked at the last minute, narrowly avoiding it and sending it into her bean bag chair filled with Pokemon plushies.

“I told you we broke up.”

“Mhmm. Why don’t you get back together by the way?” Futaba said as she swiveled around into her chair, now facing her computer monitors.

_Cause you never tell her the truth._

“It...just wouldn’t work,” Ren said quietly.

“I don’t get it but eh, if you say so,” Futaba shrugged. Her attention was fully on her computer as she booted up the emulator they would always use to play KOF. The teenage girl absent-mindedly tossed him a controller as she rolled her seat back and propped herself up in a squatted position.

Ren found comfort in Futaba because she was like him. Both of them had problems in social situations, both battled their own anxieties, and both had an _avid_ love of fighting games. Honestly, if Ren hadn’t grown up with the bespectacled twin that he called his cousin he didn’t know what he would do.

“You didn’t bring my baby today,” Futaba said as her Vice tossed Ren’s Iori across the screen.

“Morgana bit me this morning so I don’t think he wants to come outside today.”

“He bit you cause you didn’t bring him to see me last weekend either.”

“Just like you to agree with the criminal cat that hurt me.”

“You probably deserved it.”

“I think you deserve this super you’re about to eat.”

“A raw super!? What is this? Amateur hour?”

The two bantered against each other until Futaba had finally won best two out of three.

“Jeez Ren you still suck.”

“I just took it easy on you this game.”

“You said that, last last week.”

“Run it back then,” Ren grinned.

“Nuh, uh, I win fair and square now we switch games.”

“Fine fine,” Ren laughed, “...did you actually like the story by the way?”

“Like I said I didn’t understand anything but from what I did gather it seemed pretty good. My question is, what are you going to do to make it stand out?”

“Stand out?” Ren repeated.

“Yeah, what makes this different from _Inari’s Shrine_ or _Dance Under The Cherry Blossoms_?” Futaba asked as she booted up _Street Fighter: Third Strike._

“I don’t really know...I wasn’t expecting to even be writing this.”

“Why’s that? Don’t you always write?”

“Oh I forgot to tell you,” Ren said, adjusting his glasses, “this is actually going to be performed at Kosei.”

“What!? Ren that's friggin awesome! How the hell do you just forget to tell you number one supporter—trademark—that your play is actually going to be performed!?”

“Sorry I’m still getting used to it myself,” Ren said sheepishly, “Haru Okumura commissioned this piece actually.”

There was a brief pause before Futaba spoke again.

“The spoiled rich girl?” Futaba said, turning around to look at her cousin.

“Yes, why?”

“Be careful around her Ren. I’ve heard about her”

“You know I don’t pay attention to rumors Futaba.”

“Yeah but this isn’t a rumor,” Futaba said, wagging her finger, “I've been on… _'message'_ boards for Shujin-Kosei and it's filled with a bunch of students saying the same thing. They get close to Haru or do a favor for her then when things don’t pan out she has them ostracized, sometimes even sued for every penny they’ve got. Doesn’t matter what you did she’ll find something on you. Not to mention the stuff her father has supposedly done to his employees? Overwork, stress, overtime with no pay—”

“—you really believe that stuff?”

“I’m dead serious Ren! The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. If her dad is bad imagine how she is? Its trickle-down economics,” Futaba yelled.

“I don’t think you’re using that correctly.”

Futaba shot Ren a glare.

“Okay, okay,” Ren said, raising his hands, “I’ll be careful around Haru. Only talk to her if absolutely necessary. Well then again Shiho is doing most of the talking for me…”

“You better, and watch out for your ex’s sake too.”

“I will,” Ren nodded.

_Could there really be something to what Futaba is saying?_

The question floated around in Ren’s mind as he and Futaba played video games until the sky got dark.

**_THE1STPAGETHE1STPAGETHE1STPAGE_ **

Lost in his own thoughts and accompanied by the slow Japanese ballads in his headphones, Ren sat. The train taking him from the rural feeling Yongen-Jaya and into the heart of Shibuya whisked through the darkness like a knife cutting into soft baked bread. The needle that the train threaded created a low rumbling sound that was slowly lulling Ren to sleep. Unusually the train car was close to empty. The only passengers besides Ren were two gossiping older women, a man who looked like he was in his early twenties dressed in a business suit, and a middle-aged woman currently staring into her phone. Ren struggled to keep himself awake, shifting in his seat to make himself more comfortable only to catch a glimpse of red hair.

Intrigued, Ren spared a glance out the corner of his eye. The red hair belonged to a girl. She seemed to be the same age as him with a hairstyle much like Futaba’s. Bangs and long straight hair that traveled down her back. She had a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses on and was dressed in plain black clothing that blended in with the seating. If Ren’s Third Eye was to be trusted she seemed meek and shy. The type you would lose in a crowd filled with people. Her slender ivory fingers were holding a book, one that Ren couldn’t make out the title of without completely giving away the fact he had been staring at this girl from the corner of his vision for the like last twenty minutes.

“Might as well talk to her if you’re going to stare,” the twenty-year-old said to Ren, causing a thick blush to spread across his face. The girl, whoever she was, seemed to hear this as well and turned red. She brought the book closer to her face.

_Shit, shit, shit._

Just as quickly as the man’s comment was made the train pulled to a stop and the passengers got off. Ren watched as the girl hurried out the terminal and into the chilly night. It wasn’t like he was going to speak to her anyway—his anxiety was much too strong for that—but he still didn’t want some random girl telling her friends that he was a train creeper.

It didn’t take long for him to arrive home, opening the door gently and just as softly closing it and flipping the top lock into place. He carefully shuffled toward his room, trying his best to avoid the squeaky plank of wood near his door. Ren tossed a hand over his mouth to stop himself from yelling as he nearly tripped over Morgana who blended in with the darkened floor perfectly. The cat gave a curious " _mrow?_ " Before walking into Ren’s room with him.

The dark-haired writer slipped inside, closing his door behind him. He made a motion to lock it then remembered his dad had taken the locks out ages ago. After tossing his jacket onto his desk, he flopped onto his bed and opened his laptop with a sigh.

 _“My question is, what are you going to do to make it stand out?”_ Futaba’s voice repeated in Ren’s head.

Futaba was right.

Most of Ren’s plays were standard fare. _Inari’s Shrin_ e was a Noh play focusing on a priest who loses faith in his beliefs after the death of his village. Eventually, the play ends with his sad demise at the hands of a power-hungry warlord’s invading army. Still, it was his lightest play all things considered as by the end it was implied that the priest reincarnates as a lotus where the shrine used to be. _Dance Under The Cherry Blossoms_ was a _Kabuki_ piece but Ren didn’t even really like that himself, to be honest. It was a basic _Romeo and Juliet_ love story but the writing was subpar by his standard. If he had the chance to he would look to explore that part of theatre again.

He was still in the early writing stages, so he could easily rewrite something to make it fit whatever drama or type he wanted. Why not try…

_That’s it! I always wanted to try Bunraku, if I mix that with the Kabuki style then I’ll have something really unique._

Of course, the idea had probably already been done somewhere else at a much higher level but for high schoolers who weren’t at all familiar with Drama? It would go over great.

With Okumura funding the project, he wouldn’t have to worry about money at all.

Just himself.

**_THE1STPAGETHE1STPAGETHE1STPAGE_ **

Ann watched, a worried expression painted on her face as Ren hunched over his black spiral notebook.

Something was wrong.

She had already been on edge, this was the only class they had together and Ren hadn’t said more than a few words to her when he walked in. He had seemed so happy in the group chat earlier about writing his first couple pages but now he looked downright miserable. Sneaking her phone out of her pocket, she started to text while keeping her eyes firmly locked onto her paper. Her pen moved in meaningless doodles shaped like real words hoping that it would throw her teacher off. A skill she developed juggling photo shoots and classwork.

> _saythankyoumaki: Ren_

A couple of seconds passed.

> _looseendthethird: yeah_

Ann looked up to see if the coast was clear. Holding in a breath, her vision just barely met Mr. Ushimaru’s before she looked down at her buzzing phone.

> _saythankyoumaki: you look stressed_
> 
> _looseendthethird: a little_
> 
> _looseendthethird: i lost my inspiration_
> 
> _looseendthethird: i don’t know how but i did_
> 
> _saythankyoumaki: after class lets go to big bang burger we can get drinks and talk about it_
> 
> _looseendthethird: okay_

“Takamaki!” Mr. Ushimaru barked, “Put your damn phone away before I drop it in Mrs. Chouno’s fishbowl!”

An empty threat more than likely but Ann wasn’t willing to test it. She had spent her last of her modeling money on this phone.

“Y-yes, sir!” Ann responded, tossing her phone into her handbag. A couple of students in the class started giggling but a quick stare from Ushimaru sent the room silent. Ren watched and shook his head, letting it fall into his slick palms.

_**THE1STPAGETHE1STPAGETHE1STPAGE** _

School ended without much fanfare.

Ushimaru had held Ann for a couple of minutes after class much to her chagrin. He started with a bunch of long-winded sentences about “expecting more out of her” since she was “normally such a well-behaved student”. Ann of course nodded and smiled in his face then rolled her eyes when she met up with Ren who was waiting just outside the classroom. Ushimaru meant well but he also tended to overreact when his star pupils started “acting up” in his eyes. He was the prototypical straight-laced, stern teacher. A hardass if you didn’t realize it came from a place of love and wanting all his students to reach their true potential.

Or maybe Ren was just thinking too deep.

“Actually Ren, I changed my mind.”

“About what?” Ren asked as he swiped his card for both of them at the Shibuya terminal.

“I don’t want fast food anymore. Want to try that new Starbucks? I heard they have some amazing frappes.”

“Sure,” Ren smiled.

The two maneuvered through the crowd of people at Shibuya Crossing, only having to walk a short few blocks to get to the massive Starbucks center. Ann was _delighted_ to find out that it had a cheesecake factory inside as well.

“Hi, welcome to Starbucks, how may I help you?”

“Two banana crepes please!” Ann said with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old asking her dad to buy her a new toy. The whole interaction faded into itself for Ren. Ann got a danish as well as two cookies for the writer even though he said he wasn’t hungry. They moved to a small booth set up in the corner, one that was next to the clear glass window staring into the heart of a busy Tokyo Monday. Illuminated under the crass lightning and green color schemes, Ann leaned forward. She stirred her drink with a spoon (something Ryuji and Ren always told her she didn’t need to do cause it was a freaking frappe) and gave Ren a look.

“So what’s wrong?”

“You want the short version or the long version?” Ren joked, his eyes darting from person to person in the spacious tea shop. There was a girl his age reading some book in the corner adjacent to them, a couple taking pictures of each other drinking bubble tea and the workers bored out of their mind having small conversations waiting for the time to pass and their shifts to be over.

“C’mon Ren, I know you’re going through a lot of stress for some reason. You know you can share it with me right?”

Mentally Ren shook his head. After his conversation with Shiho, he still didn’t feel quite right putting all of his new problems onto his friendship with Ryuji and Ann. Having his ex-girlfriend worrying about him was more than enough, he didn’t need to add either of the two blondes into his issues.

Tapping his finger against the now steaming plastic teacup, Ren opened his mouth to speak, “play stuff. And family stuff too but I think you knew that already really…” Ann was very aware of Ren’s home life but that didn’t make it any easier for her to think about.

“You said you lost all your inspiration?”

“Yeah,” Ren sighed, “I did. It was like a mountain of ideas were there then they were just gone. I had the whole story played out in my head then poof,” Ren said, moving his hands like a small explosion. He slouched backward into his seat, letting his glasses fall to the bridge of his nose.

“Well, what did you do to get inspired last time? You can't just uh...recreate it?”

Ren laughed, “it was actually a spider web of all things.”

Ann raised an eyebrow, “you hate spiders.”

“Right?” Ren said, leaning forward again and resting his elbow on the table, “but something about that spider web in my room—well actually it wasn’t even a web at the time—inspired something deep in me. Now it's gone, the spider too.”

Ann laughed.

“Well don’t most writers have a muse or something? Like a person, they talk to and base their stories on?”

“Yeah…” Ren said thinking it over, “...they do but where am I gonna find that at? No offense to you guys or Futaba but you don’t inspire something out of me when writing. Just to be a better person.”

“Wowww,” Ann said clutching her heart, “I’m hurt.”

“Stop you know I love you guys.”

“Of course I do,” Ann said, taking a sip of her crepe, “but you need that muse. You’ve got plenty of time but I don’t want you getting stuck and then not having something before Golden Week.”

“That’s in ten days,” Ren muttered to himself, “it’ll pass by fast.”

Ren and Ann sat together in silence at that. He watched cautiously as Ann seemingly racked her brain for solutions although it was highly unlikely she would have anything for him. If he was lucky he could force some more of the story out himself. Just as quickly as he had the thought he scoffed at the idea of _ever_ phoning in work. He’d rather drop out of the play altogether than write something less than perfect. Especially if Haru Okumura herself had—

“—what about Shiho?” Ann asked after a long while.

Ren flushed red (something that was happening a little too often for him lately), “what _about_ Shiho?”

“Don’t artists and writers use romantic partners as muses all the time? That could work right?”

“But me and Shiho…” Ren coughed, “...what makes you think Shiho even still feels that way for me?”

“You don’t know anything about women Ren,” Ann smirked, “feelings just don’t disappear like that. Especially if your relationship starts with friendship first.”

“Okay but I don’t wanna mix my work with my love life again,” Ren said even more discombobulated, “...you remember how that ended right?”

Ann gave a dejected nod, “we all do.”

“I’m not saying that to try and make you feel bad!”

“I know,” Ann said, catching the palpable unease on his face, “I’m sorry, that was probably really sudden. But I just see the way she still looks at you. Ugh, this was supposed to be about your play, not your love life.”

“N-no it's okay,” Ren shook his head, “last time we talked about ' _that_ ' Shiho told me where we stood. I don’t wanna overstep a boundary.”

“Well, then can’t you use that?”

“Use what?”

“Maybe, it would be too... _much_ if you use your breakup as inspiration but the strongest emotions make the best story right? I hope this isn’t shitty advice…” Ann pouted.

“No…” Ren said quickly, causing Ann’s stare to jump up at him, “...you’re kind of onto something. It only happened a few months ago. I don’t wanna just pick at a scab but if it's for the play—”

“—Ren, don’t take this too far alright?” Ann’s voice had become stern now. Her eyebrows were etched with worry.

“I won’t Ann. I’m getting better at handling my emotions, if I tap into something too dark I’ll stop. I promise you that.”

“Okay,” Ann relented, “I trust you.”

The conversation started to drift. Ann was texting someone now and Ren was playing with the paper napkin on the table, letting the tension dissipate. Truthfully, Ren had _no_ idea if that would work but he had to try something right? Otherwise, the play would slip through his fingers alongside his chance to _finally_ show something of his craft. He had metaphorically been sharpening his sword since middle school and now this was his chance to unveil his own exquisite brand of swordsmanship. A low rumble from Ren’s stomach took him out of his monologue and back to his present-day at the table.

“...damn I’m hungry.”

“Told you,” Ann said with a cheeky grin.

The two teens stayed there for hours, sharing random thoughts about the year until the sun had started to set and Ann had to wave goodbye. Ren watched as she boarded her train home, his face one of deep contemplation. Wounds _didn’t_ heal if you picked at them but if it was for the play he could afford to sacrifice a little bit of comfort.

Just a little.

**_THE1STPAGETHE1STPAGETHE1STPAGE_ **

Night had settled in.

The sweet drone of cicada wings beating against his window outside became background noise as Ren typed diligently. The typing was no longer frenetic and rapid like Ren was trying to grab every thought that came to his mind and put it to paper before he lost it but instead it was replaced with a sedated click of each key one by one. He was halfway through a sentence before just as quickly hitting the backspace bar, deleting everything he had written.

Impatiently, he started tapping his finger against the side of his laptop.

This was bad.

Where pages 1, 2, and 3 flowed out of Ren’s mind, the next several slowly dripped onto the paper. The cascade of ideas Ren had before slowed to a crawl. Character arcs, fight scenes, and even music started to dry up in the pool of inspiration that was his brain

Ren might have tended to overreact but now wasn’t that time. If he knew himself as well as he thought he did this was the start of writer's block and if he got writer's block now there was no way he would be able to finish the play before it was due. He racked his brain for every single solution he could think of until Ann’s advice came loud and clear.

_“...the strongest emotions make the best story right?”_

“Shiho…” Ren muttered. Did he really want to recall these memories? Especially this stressed?

_For this production, I would do anything._

The floodgates of his mind started to open like the slow run of faucet water.

Honestly, Ren couldn’t remember actually _introducing_ himself to Shiho. He just remembered how she had approached and spoke to him like they had been friends from day one. That straightforward attitude is how they ended up dating.

They were both first years when she walked up to him outside the Shujin-Kosei school gates, _“You know I really like you Ren.”_

A statement, he remembered with a smile, not a question.

_“O-oh, I like you too Shiho.”_

_“Like a girlfriend Ren.”_

_“A girlfriend?”_

_“Yeah. You wouldn’t mind...being my boyfriend would you?”_

He thought back to how natural it seemed at the time.

“Reeen and Shiiiiho,” everyone teased in the same K-i-s-s-i-ng song rhythm.

His classmates said they would be together forever. Futaba tended to agree. They just seemed to match. Even if Ren himself didn’t have many friends besides Ann and Ryuji, everyone else was enamored with him after he managed to get the student-athlete. There were a lot of jealous guys who sneered at him as he sat courtside at all of Shiho’s volleyball games.

“ _Just how the hell did a weirdo like him pull Suzui?_ ”

He didn’t pay very much mind. It was his first real relationship yet they fit each other like a glove. Shiho made up for Ren where he lacked socially, she was charismatic where he was awkward. Gifted physically where Ren was smart. Although Shiho could never be regarded as dumb. Where Shiho loved to crunch numbers and get hands-on in science, Ren preferred slow methodical research. He loved writing papers until the point where he had accidentally passed the word limit his teachers had given him for assignments. Even when the darker thoughts reared its ugly head Shiho genuinely seemed to love him for all his flaws.

“Now the hard part…”

As Ren’s fingers moved in a languid rhythm he started to turn the metaphorical knob in his head. Water was starting to cascade as his brain unlocked the memories he had kept tucked away.

It was so vivid to him.

_Standing over the sink of his home, Shiho had cracked open the door, her eyes wide and filled with tears when she saw Ren dripping blood down his shoulder._

_“W-what are you doing?”_

He didn’t have a response at the time.

_“Stop it!” her voice cracked._

_It was so hoarse it sounded like she was the one hurting herself. She repeated herself but Ren stood frozen. It was a scuffle he remembered, she had knocked the blade out his hand and cut right into her palm. She still had that scar to this day…_

...as did he.

Rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he stared at the three thick and calloused lines horizontally laid across his shoulder

_“Get off me!” he screamed, causing his present self to flinch._

How could he treat her like that? After he had skipped school she came to check on him. Now here he was, yelling at her. Ren’s head was starting to hurt but he didn’t want to stop now. Something was coming at him if a little slow. Words were forming, he could see it. He just had to push himself.

_“How could you do that to yourself?”_

_“You don’t understand.”_

_“I understand that you’re hurting yourself. We need to take you to a hospital or something Ren—”_

_“—I’m fine Shiho. I’ve done this before, it always heals.”_

_“Before!?”_

Ren rolled up his pants leg and looked with discontent at the five even cuts on both of his legs. Those were the hardest to hide, especially in the gym. In his head, his past self had started to repeat the same motion causing anger to bubble up in Shiho. He had expected her to yell at him again back then but she just looked…disappointed. She must have lost the energy because she continued the rest of her time there in silence. After stopping the blood flow and hiding the gauze underneath his clothes they fell asleep in each other's arms

So vivid.

He couldn’t even remember if his parents had come in and ignored him or stayed out late that night but either way he woke up by himself. His gaze shifted to his phone which had one message across it.

> _soundbody415: I’m sorry_

He was too. For both of them.

Too vivid. Too too vivid. He needed to back out, _now_

Ren hastily locked the flashbacks in his mind up again. He didn’t want to go down the path of their just as painful breakup. That really said something about how broken and _fucked_ up his head was if Shiho catching him cutting himself was the least sensitive part of his last few weeks with her. Physically he scrambled to start writing again but still, nothing came.

He didn’t understand. He had picked at his wounds leaving nothing but itchy, bruised sores from the once healed part of his subconscious. Wasn’t this supposed to help? He should have had an epiphany by now, his hands should have been moving by themselves like they did last time.

He didn’t get it. Why was he still staring at the blank white canvas that was his computer? Why had he felt even worse than before? Maybe if he just started writing again something would click in his head. Maybe the feelings he had been holding in his heart would finally reach his fingertips and the page he had been mentally battling with for the last two days would turn into the somber poetic language of his magnum opus. Like he had done so many times before the bruises of his soul leaked onto his computer keys. Only this time he was met with…

...nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meta-commentary what's that? never heard of it, is it a food?


End file.
